


In This Moment, Unguarded

by ceasefire



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Anal Fingering, Experimental Style, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, M/M, Post-Canon, Reunions, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 03:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3794569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceasefire/pseuds/ceasefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reawakening, reunion, reacquainting, remembering, remorse, relief and reaffirmation. </p><p>Sorey and Mikleo, after seven centuries apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In This Moment, Unguarded

**Author's Note:**

> First ToZ fic. Hopefully I didn't do too badly. Thanks to Nina for giving this a quick once over for me!

It takes nearly all of Sorey's strength to save him from the fall; Mikleo can tell he was worried by the relieved sigh he feels escaping from Sorey's chest, hidden behind a laugh breathless from adrenaline and exertion. There's a stiffness in both their limbs, a dull ache; borne from different sources, Mikleo realises, as his body falls pliant against Sorey, so close he swears he feels the tension from Sorey's muscles in his own.

It might have taken anywhere between seconds and hours for Mikleo to move up and away -- the flow of time has meant so little for so long -- but he knows that the smile he sees on Sorey's face when he does so makes time stop completely.

"Sorry to keep you waiting."

Mikleo scoffs and uses it as an excuse to cover his mouth, leaving the smile on his face to show only in his eyes.

"Idiot." _Welcome back._

* * *

Sorey doesn't know how long it took him to escape the space between sleep and the waking world; his first conscious thought was that his body felt heavy, like he was pinned down by intense gravity and every tiny movement he could make was a marked improvement. 

His second thought was of Mikleo. After he found the strength to open his eyes and scout his surroundings, he quickly came to the realization that he was alone and that it didn't bother him at all. He knew that if he waited, Mikleo would come.

And he was right.

They leave the ruins, and Sorey isn't sure whether the tingling pins-and-needles warmth beneath the skin of his hand is from his body adjusting to activity or from how tightly Mikleo grasped his hand when they found one another. They are quiet despite all of the questions they could ask one another, and the silence between them is as comfortable as it was centuries before when they used to read together, eyes racing across paper to the final word to win the smallest of bragging rights until they turned the page.

The sun sets and the chill of the wind is sharp and strong against Sorey's exposed skin. He wonders aloud how much farther they have to go -- seven hundred years have reshaped the world into a place that he doesn't quite know anymore -- and Mikleo makes a soft, hollow-happy humming sound.

"You don't know where we are?"

It's only after a few more minutes of less comfortable silence that Sorey realizes that he knows this place after all. Mikleo shuts his eyes and faces forward; his fingertips curling delicately towards his palms is the only thing that alerts Sorey that what he said had hurt.

"We need to get inside before it gets too cold," Mikleo says towards the horizon. Sorey nods wordlessly, knowing that Mikleo can't see, and follows behind.

* * *

The house isn't a home anymore. There's a sort of stale stillness to the air inside that hints at disuse. A thin layer of dust coats each of the simple pieces of furniture; Sorey can see the grain of the wooden table through gaps in the dust shaped like clawing fingers and clenched fists. Dusty cobwebs hang from the corners of the room, unoccupied by their creators. The lamps on the walls are smoking, but the flames have long burnt out. The fire beneath the stove is crackling loudly, in stark contrast to its surroundings. Overall it was certainly still liveable, but would need maintenance soon to stay that way in the foreseeable future.

Sorey watches as Mikleo's hair sways behind him, caught in the small draughts that come through the age-worn walls. Sorey had been hoping that it would be warmer inside, but without the aid of the last of the sun's rays, it was actually colder. He sits down in front of the fire, as close as he can get while still being safe, and tries to share in its heat.

Mikleo turns to him, his lips set in a straight line in contrast to the softness in his gaze.

"Sorey... are you hungry?"

Sorey shakes his head no, the corners of his lips twitching. Truthfully, he hadn't felt hungry or thirsty since he'd awoken, but he figured it would wear off with time.

"I'm fine."

"In that case," Mikleo says, mirroring Sorey's smile, "perhaps we should clean up."

The dirt and dust in Mikleo's silvery hair makes it reminiscent of the spider webs in the room's corners. There's a large steel tub in one corner of the room, placed haphazardly on top of some time-weathered books and papers, scarred by rust. Mikleo picks it up and puts it in front of the fire before picking up a blackened kettle from beside the stove, filling it with water and placing it over the fire to warm. The crackling of the fire fills the silence that should have been filled by their conversation as the water began to steam; Mikleo rushes to move it before it becomes too hot.

Sorey licks his lips wet, suddenly nervous as Mikleo turns to him, his eyes dark and his expression unreadable.

"Sorey..."

"I'll leave," Sorey murmurs, getting to his feet. "It's fine."

Seven hundred years have blurred the boundaries between them, and the initial excitement of their reunion suddenly fades and gives way to uncertainty. Sorey shuts his eyes with effort as he gets up, body still weighed down with the lead-like weight of his centuries of sleep. He manages a relieved sigh as he rights himself, and the sight that greets him as his eyes flutter back open steals what little air he had left in his lungs.

There is no uncertainty in Mikleo's gaze as he stares back over his shoulder at Sorey, one hand behind his head lifting his hair out of the way to expose his neck. The tiny gold clasps holding his clothing together glitter in the firelight.

"Help me, Sorey."

Sorey swallows dryly and nods, wordless as he steps forward to do as Mikleo has asked. 

The lengths of material that covered his back -- more than before, Sorey vaguely notes -- come away easily, falling almost as soon as he touches the clasps holding them in place. Mikleo's fingers tighten and ease in his own hair in turn when Sorey's hands accidentally brush bare skin. Sorey isn't sure whether he should prompt Mikleo to turn so he can continue or whether he should move around Mikleo's body himself, have the chance to take in every change that happened over the time he was sleeping. It turns out that he has to do neither; Mikleo makes a soft, impatient sound and turns around to face him, his brow creased with the slightest frown.

Sorey laughs out loud at that and reaches up to loosen the top layer of clothing on Mikleo's upper body. "Sorry."

Mikleo _hmphs_ and averts his gaze stubbornly as Sorey helps him shed his coat, leaving the darker undershirt to be taken off. Sorey's fingers stumble over the hem of the material a little, pressing into Mikleo's flesh just a little too hard as his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his pants. That makes Mikleo's breath hitch, which in turn makes Sorey freeze out of fear of hurting him. Mikleo's hand darts out to hold Sorey's in place in an instant, and he only releases it when he feels Sorey's muscles relax beneath his fingertips. The next time his breath hitches, it's for an entirely different reason and he has to bite his lips to stop himself from laughing when Sorey's fingers slide gently over his skin as he peels away his clothes.

"Still ticklish?" Sorey asks, and there's something so elated and relieved in his voice that Mikleo has to stop himself from wrapping his arms around Sorey's neck and seeing if he can taste that happiness on his lips.

_I waited seven hundred years, and I would have waited longer... but now that you're here, I don't know how patient I can be. Sorey, I..._

"Mikleo," Sorey continues, sounding a little breathless now, "should we stop? Should we..."

"No," Mikleo answers, shaking his head so hard that little clouds of dust rise from his hair, "I don't want to. Do you?"

"No," Sorey says, answering so quickly that he almost spoke over the top of Mikleo's question. "Of course not, but..."

Mikleo watches as Sorey lifts his gloved hand and catches one loose tress of his hair and held it in his line of sight; sure enough, it had been dulled from white to grey by the shower of dust that had rained down on him when he'd almost fallen. It was true, he is filthy and sore but it doesn't compare to the ache he feels inside when he thinks about being touched by Sorey.

An idea suddenly crosses Mikleo's mind, and he smiles as he lifts his hand to cover Sorey's.

"If you're so concerned about that, Sorey... help me fix it."

He reaches down and loosens his pants, hesitating for just a second before familiarity overcomes seven hundred years of separation before ridding himself of them entirely. And then, turning on his heel and walking to the large metal tub, he sits himself down in it and looks over at his shoulder at Sorey. 

Sorey swallows thickly, his eyes locked on his friend. There were moments like this in the past as they had grown up together of course, but that was then and this was now, the uncertain, frightening, _wonderful_ present and Sorey can barely believe how beautiful Mikleo is. His body is coloured with hundreds of unique, perfect shades of pale from the pale wisps of hair at the crown of his head to the tips of his toes, and Sorey has waited ten lifetimes in dreams for the chance to experience the taste of each one on his tongue again.

Mikleo shivers, gooseflesh making milky skin rough as he blushes under Sorey's intense gaze. He huffs a little and swings his legs over the side of the tub, looking pointedly at the kettle of rapidly cooling water.

"Come on, Sorey."

Sorey hums in acknowledgement, picks up the kettle and walks over to Mikleo. He briefly presses the back of his hand against the outside of it to test the temperature of the water, and finds that it is indeed cooling rapidly. Kneeling down behind Mikleo, Sorey takes a steadying breath as he gets himself comfortable and then gently picks up Mikleo's hair.

Breathing through parted lips, Sorey combs his fingers through the pale strands of Mikleo's hair, his breath catching simultaneously with Mikleo's at the feeling. His hair is like silk despite being dirty, free of tangles and unbelievably soft. Vaguely Sorey thinks that Mikleo's hair really is like a spider's web, soft but strong, and Sorey knows it all too well because he is already entangled.

Mikleo tilts his head back, pliant and Sorey gently pours the warm water through his hair. A little drips down his face and Sorey whispers an apology as he swipes the excess water away from Mikleo's eyes. The dirt comes away easily with the combined efforts of the water and Sorey's fingers carding through his hair, and Mikleo sighs contentedly. 

Sorey laughs and Mikleo cracks one eye open -- when did he close them? -- in question.

"You look like a cat or something," Sorey says with a grin. Mikleo's eyes narrow -- which doesn't do much to convince Sorry that his current attitude isn't catlike -- and with a sudden smirk, he tosses his head and lets his long, wet hair to slide over the side of the tub and land squarely in Sorey's lap.

"Oi, Mikleo!" Sorey gasps, cringing at the warm water soaking through his clothes. Mikleo's smirk widened, baring white teeth between pink lips as a sort of taunt, and Sorey falls for it in an instant. He lunges forward, taking advantage of Mikleo's shock to run his fingertips along the bumps of his ribs; Mikleo splutters and flails so badly that Sorey has to use one hand to stop him kicking the hot coals on the hearth with his bare foot, and that is the catalyst that leads to the two of them losing their balance and landing in a wet tangle of limbs and laughter on the wooden floor.

Sorey's arm is still trapped uncomfortably beneath Mikleo's head as they come to rest side by side, close enough that the warmth of Mikleo's breath makes Sorey's skin prickle. The washbasin has mercifully remained upright, though much of the water was now coursing along the cracks in the floorboards and towards the edge of the hearth. Mikleo stares at Sorey, breathing evenly through lips parted in anticipation, only hitching when Sorey grins and runs his fingertips down the side of his body again, more a caress this time than anything else.

"You really are still ticklish," Sorey asks with a grin glowing with the confidence of already knowing the answer. "After all this time?"

"Of course," Mikleo replies, almost indignant. A pause the length of a heartbeat passes in silence before Mikleo murmurs, "Nothing has changed."

Sorey isn't sure which one of them moves first; in hindsight, he think as their lips meet in a kiss that's warm and deep and just edging on desperate, the only important thing is that they meet each other half way. The first swipe of Sorey's tongue against the roof of Mikleo's mouth makes the Seraph shivers, and by the time he pulls away, catching Mikleo's bottom lip lightly between his teeth as he does so, Mikleo's making short little sounds in the back of his throat that are just short of being moans. Mikleo shuts his eyes and rests his forehead against Sorey's as he catches his breath, as if he's held it for the last seven centuries and is only just learning how to live again. When he finally calms down, he opens his eyes to meet Sorey's and frowns lightly at the other man's relieved laugh, though he soon gets caught up in the rhythm of his happiness and joins in.

"I was worried," he whispers, his fingers and Sorey's fumbling over separate buttons on Sorey's damp shirt, "but I don't know why. Sorey, I'm sorry I..."

"Hey now," Sorey interrupts, shaking his head and stifling a laugh as both buttons pop open at the same time, "don't worry. It's over now, and Mikleo..."

"I know," Mikleo says. As the final buttons come loose they have to part to work the wet cloth away from Sorey's skin, but once it's gone Mikleo lunges forward again, closing the gap between them so fast he barely has time to whisper _I know, Sorey_ before his own actions render him silent.

Their legs intertwine with practiced ease unaffected by the years, Mikleo's hipbones jutting out and pressing into Sorey's as he rolls his body forward. Sorey's lower half is still clothed, his body burning beneath the wet, rapidly cooling material of his pants, but he can already feel the firm warmth of Mikleo's cock pressing against his stomach. If he hadn't already wanted to be rid of them that certainly would have spurred him into action, and within a few moments his pants were undone and shoved quickly down to his knees with Mikleo's help, the two of them wanting to be so close to one another there was no space between their bodies. They had already spent far too long apart.

Rid of all barriers between them, there suddenly seems like no reason to rush at all. Sorey takes a steadying breath as the length of Mikleo's cock slides hot and wet against his own, following the groove between body and thigh. Somehow he manages to choke out Mikleo's name and murmur _slow, slow Mikleo_ as Mikleo hesitates, and as he wraps his arms around Mikleo's body he can't help but be thankful that all the time in the world is now theirs to spend with one another.

Sorey begins to roll his hips then, in long, lazy movements that draw a desperate whisper of his name from Mikleo's lips. There's barely any friction between their skin but what little is there is eased by the precum beading on the slit of Mikleo's cock, and the warmth travels up and down Sorey's spine before pooling in his stomach. Mikleo has always been like this since the first time, so beautiful and eager for his touch, and he wishes he could apologize for every minute that he deprived him of it even if Mikleo would never accept it. The thought makes him moan in the back of his throat and rock his hips with a little more force, breaking their kiss with a gasp as the tip of Mikleo's cock presses wet against the sensitive spot beneath the head of his own cock. One hand slips down to hold firm on the curve of Mikleo's thigh and the other runs up and down the length of his spine; Sorey idly reminds himself to be careful as he feels his fingers snag in Mikleo's hair, but the soft little moan that Mikleo lets escape from his throat tells Sorey he hardly minded. It just a new thing, a wonderful thing merging into something old and tested by time. Soon it will become old and familiar too, and Sorey feels happiness swell in his chest at the thought.

He can tell Mikleo is getting close as his soft sounds of pleasure turn into longer moans, and Sorey carefully slides his hand from Mikleo's thigh to the cleft of his ass and presses one fingertip against his entrance, teasing the sensitive skin.

"Sorey!" Mikleo chokes out, hips suddenly stilling as his body goes taut, and Sorey carefully presses his fingertip inside Mikleo up to the knuckle as Mikleo comes. His body is wonderfully warm and tight around Sorey and his lips are parted, rounded into a perfect oval by a silent gasp; Sorey doesn't even notice the sticky warmth of Mikleo's cum on his stomach until Mikleo reaches between them, whispering feverish endearments as he slicks his hand with his own release and wraps it around Sorey's cock. For the first time then, Sorey feels as if he's lived the seven hundred years that have passed instead of sleeping them away, desperate for Mikleo's touch as he is, and it doesn't take more than a few flicks of Mikleo's wrist to send him over the edge.

They lay together for as long as they can bear afterwards, damp with sweat and semen and basking in an afterglow long overdue on the uncomfortable wooden floorboards. It's Mikleo that makes the first sound louder than a breath, and Sorey gives him a questioning look.

"Now I need another bath."

Sorey has no creative response to give to that, and so he simply leans forward and silences Mikleo with his lips.

* * *

The material of Sorey's Shepherd cloak provides a surprisingly comfortable blanket, albeit a little small for two people. Sorey's head is resting in Mikleo's lap and the cloak is awkwardly folded and twisted by the two of them trying to get equal cover from the material. They've cleaned each other off, Mikleo has left their clothes neatly folded in a corner away from the bath water, and they've settled back into comfortable silence. Sorey is insisting that he's not tired and that his head is merely heavy, and Mikleo is glad he cannot see him smirk even as he voices his agreement. 

He's missed this, all of this, regardless of whether it was when they were younger and the weight in his lap was a book instead of Sorey, or whether it was their last night together before Sorey's slumber and all he could do was hold tight and pray for the quick passing of the years. 

It warms him, knowing that those times are gone and that Sorey is here, as real and welcome as he had been since forever ago.

"Are you okay, Mikleo?"

Sorey's voice breaks him from his thoughts, and Mikleo glances down at him; the one eye he has half-open looks heavy-lidded.

"I'm fine," Mikleo replies, and this time he can't hide his smile. "Just thinking. But what about you?"

"Eh?"

"I thought you said you weren't tired."

Sorey's fingertips are pressed against his side in an instant and Mikleo tries his best to squirm away while still held down by Sorey. Sorey's laughter rings through the cold air, the sweetest sound he's ever heard, and Mikleo finds himself laughing too.

Somehow he already knew that they would never part again.


End file.
